


surf

by traveller



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-01
Updated: 2003-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Surf's up, and that's a ridiculous reason to be out of bed at this hour, but they drag him out into the truck despite the fact he's practically leaving fingernail grooves on the floorboards. He doesn't know how he lets himself be talked into these things, especially when he already knows they're both fucking barmy.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	surf

Surf's up, and that's a ridiculous reason to be out of bed at this hour, but they drag him out into the truck despite the fact he's practically leaving fingernail grooves on the floorboards. He doesn't know how he lets himself be talked into these things, especially when he already knows they're both fucking barmy.

Ridiculous, but soon he's laughing out loud at something Vig said that wasn't supposed to be funny, and Orli's pouring out hot black coffee from a thermos into paper cups, and the three of them are passing a cigarette back and forth. Viggo drives without looking at the map, just takes the turns without question at Orli's direction, and suddenly there it is, white sand and blue water and the sun's burning red-gold on the horizon.

Surf's up and they watch Orli wriggle into his wetsuit right there in front of God and everybody, if two people count as everybody, anyway; they lean on the side of the truck and share another cigarette. Vig's got the digital, and he fires off the perfect shot of Orli, backlit by the rising sun, half in half out of the waves, the curve of the board, the curve of his back. Sean wants a copy, and Viggo tells him he'll print one. He doesn't have to ask.

Sean sits on the tailgate and lifts his face to the sun; Viggo is running around with the camera; Orli is thrashing around in the waves, yelling whooping, Look at me! Look! They look. They always do, and then they look at each other, smile. If the kid tires himself out, maybe they'll get some sleep tonight. Or not, because this sort of thing just winds him up, and chances are good that there'll be blowjobs in a lay-by on the way back. When they do get back it'll be afternoon, and they'll take turns fucking Orli until they collapse in a humid pile on Viggo's big bed and then, maybe then, he'll sleep.

Surf's up and Orli bounds up to him, a big wet puppy with a big wet tongue, smacking kisses all over Sean's face before he drops his board to go tackle Vig. They hit the sand with a splat, wrestling kissing for a second or two and Viggo is laughing like the lunatic he is, damn the camera and his clothes; he scoops up Orli and throws him into the waves.

They are all three wet and have sand in interesting places by the time the first car pulls in at midmorning, Orli said nobody comes here and he was right. He throws his arms around Viggo and Sean's necks, humming singing as they walk up the beach back to the truck: _Road trippin' with my two favourite allies..._ Viggo cuffs the back of his head and says something about loaning him his copy of "Blood On The Tracks", then they are packing into the cab of the truck again, pointed back toward the house and the bed and a long hot afternoon. Sean won't admit it, ever, but he would've liked to have stayed.


End file.
